Duet
by Aria Dulci
Summary: Back to complete their final year, Draco and Hermione are forced to cooperate after a potions accident, caused by their bickering, leaves Harry and Ron in ages more suited to their maturity level. Rated T for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello all, debut fic, hope you like!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its affiliates. I do, however, own this plot : )**

**CHAPTER ONE - FERRET **

His eyes held a hint of sadness, swirling in their silver depths, as he regarded the letter that lay before him. The parchment had crease lines, it was worn around its edges, the result of constant folding and unfolding. Ghosting the tips of his fingers over the bottle green ink, which had started to fade, he knew he had to make a decision.

He had been invited to complete his seventh and final year, an unusual and unexpected invitation if any, and he longed to be within the castle's stone walls again. But he was reluctant, for reasons both obvious and subtle. He was hated – something which he was of course used to, but in the past he had had support where it had counted. Now, he doubted many Slytherins would return to Hogwarts, many opting to complete their education, if that, at Durmstrang.

He stood and stretched, feeling his muscles strain painfully, then rolled his sleeves back. The Dark Mark was fading, but it was there nonetheless, the snake's tongue weakly flicking against his wrist. What a stupid decision, he mused. What a reckless scramble for power, for recognition, all with the wrong side.

He was still cold, still driven, ambitious and proud, but he was no longer stupid. He would go, he deliberated, he would go and he would endure.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express shone with a new vigour, as if itself rejoicing the death of the Dark Lord, proudly puffing steam along the platform. Draco scoffed. He wore a hooded robe, drawn low over his telltale platinum hair, and was striding carefully along the train's length. He sighed as he sighted none of his former Slytherin cohort. Hoisting his trunk into an empty compartment, he sat, idly twirling his wand.

He was very gifted in most things magical, having had private tutors most of his young life. With a flick of his wand he transfigured his shoes, which he had taken off upon making himself comfortable, into two ferrets. Ever since being unceremoniously bounced around as one, he had obtained a soft spot for the creatures.

They were both black, their fur gleaming as much as his shoes had, a clever little sparkle in each eye. With twin squeaks, they began rocketing around the compartment, and Draco was reduced to uncontrollable laughter. The compartment door began to slide open and with a flick of his wand, Draco transfigured the animals back into his shoes, catching the one that hurtled straight at his face with a Seeker's deftness.

Lavender Brown stood, towing a beet red Weasley behind her, giggling like a maniac. Draco tugged the hood lower over his face and regarded the pair from the shadows.

"Oh, sorry, we thought this was empty," squealed Lavender, turning to place a forceful kiss on the freckled boy's slightly open mouth. Draco shuddered as he caught a glimpse of her tongue diving eagerly between his lips. _I'm blind_, he thought, _dear sweet Merlin, they've blinded me. _

The compartment door shut and Draco openly grimaced, pressing a finger to his twitching left eye. There should be a warning before they did things like that, especially when it came to that long armed idiot. He preferred to regard Weasley as an organism that did not, under any circumstances, perform any remotely intimate acts. Fire-crotch was sexless, in his eyes, and the exhibition he just witnessed was challenging his beliefs with a vengeance.

Nauseated, he stretched and propped his long legs against the seat opposite him. The compartment door banged open and a livid Hermione Granger thrust a wand at his face. Merlin, did he ever catch a break?

"Where is he," she snarled, "where is that cheating son of a-"

"Language, Granger."

She blinked, taking a hesitant step forward, squinting slightly.

"Malfoy?"

"Indeed."

He watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips, feeling his brows pull into a frown as she closed the compartment door behind her.

"Granger, you're in my space."

She ignored him.

"Did you see him?"

"Who? The orang-utan and his tart?"

She flinched at the word 'tart', then nodded stiffly.

"I have no tact when it comes to matters of _your_ heart, Granger, so I'll just say it. They barged in not a second ago, tongue-wrestling."

The colour had drained from her face and her dark eyes began to shine with unshed tears. She was trembling. His lip curled.

"Granger, as much as I adore your company, could you please move your pity party elsewhere?"

She shot him a nasty glare, the brunt of which was muted by the tears that threatened to fall, and stood so suddenly he almost toppled backwards. She paused, blinking.

"Malfoy, why are you holding your shoe?"

He glanced down and, for reasons he still did not understand, lightly tossed his shoe at her, which she caught with surprising agility. He flicked his wand and a black ferret sat in her hands, glancing up at her. Instead of screaming and running, as he'd fervently hoped she would, she giggled as it snuffled playfully at her fingers.

She cooed and he wrinkled his nose, glaring at the ferret, which flipped onto its back allowing her to scratch its tummy.

"Traitor," he muttered, snarling at the animal, which only blinked innocently back.

"Does he have a name?"

Draco glanced up at the witch, who was giggling as the ferret mewled its happiness.

"Yes, his name is Right Shoe. Original, isn't it?"

She threw an unimpressed glance his way, then tickled the animal under its chin.

"I think I'll name you Nyx," she murmured, laughing as the ferret leaped up to her shoulder.

"Granger, it's a _shoe._ I'm transfiguring it back now," he said, picking up his wand, scowling as she cradled the animal to her chest, throwing him a disgusted look.

"Don't do that!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why the hell not, Granger?"

"Because it knows what it's like to live now," she stated immediately.

"If I turn it back into a shoe, I don't think it would be too offended. I hardly think it will get its laces in a knot."

He chuckled at his pun, but stopped awkwardly as she stared at him.

"You just made a joke," she murmured, petting the ferret absently. He looked away and transfigured his other shoe into another ferret. She grinned as the one she was holding leapt out of her hands to join its friend on the floor.

"What name goes with Nyx?"

"Orion."

She stiffened, but didn't dare look up at him, and he scowled at himself for answering her.

She leant forward and tapped her wand on Nyx's head, leaving a patch of white.

"To identify him," she explained.

He wordlessly flicked his wand at Orion, watching as the ferret's fur lightened into white, leaving a patch of black at its forehead.

"It's like Yin and Yang," she said, smiling.

Unnerved by her friendliness, he sneered.

"Yin and what?"

"Never you mind," she mumbled, petting the ferrets, then turned to walk out of the compartment, shutting the door lightly.

Staring at the closed door, then at the ferrets, he sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. The hood fell from his head and he reached up to his trunk to fish out a pair of dragonhide boots, since he clearly would never see his hand made, Venetian leather Berluti shoes again.

"Stupid ferrets," he muttered, pulling on the boots, glaring at Nyx and Orion, who gave him twin animal grins.

He paused before pulling on his boots, sliding the compartment door open slightly. He smirked as he heard a resounding slap and a strangled yell. Oddly comforted, he sat back and stretched. It was always a good day when the weasel was taken down a notch or two.

**A/N: So how was that? I know Draco might be a little OOC here, but don't worry, his horridness will return with a vengeance. Reviews would be wonderful : )**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to all my lovely reviewers (Kaiser, Dana, CheshireCat23, and Kathy T)! A welcome boost to my confidence : ) **

**This chapter is basically what I call the 'set-up' chapter, where everything is 'prepped' before the actual story begins. I truly hope this doesn't bore you! **

**Chapter Two - Dismal Luck **

Draco schooled his features into something resembling boredom and stood, ignoring his urge to drop all and flee such an awkward situation. McGonagall had informed him that wearing hoods in the presence of teaching staff was "simply rude, Mister Malfoy", so he had obediently lowered it, stiffening at the whispers that had ensued.

His only happiness came from the discernible tension between members of the Golden Trio. Scarhead stood in between Granger and the Weasel, acting as a peace-keeper of sorts. The Know-It-All's hair had frizzed even further, to his amusement, almost crackling with anger. Weasel fidgeted nervously, flinching every time Granger moved. Not that he would blame the idiot, Draco mused, the slap had echoed quite forcefully.

"Eighth years," began McGonagall, "we have no reason to replace you into houses this year. For this reason, only detentions will be given if behaviour is deemed unacceptable, no House Points will be removed. You will reside in the north side of the castle's west wing in dormitories equipped to room four people."

There was a noticeable shift in the group, a polarisation of sorts, where groups of four immediately made themselves known. The Trio stood obstinately as a group of three, and Draco eyed them warily, noting his singular status. McGonagall sighed.

"We deliberated between letting you choose your own groups as well as choosing groups for you, but the former won out, on grounds that being of age, you are fully capable of making your own decisions. This being said, if we notice bad group dynamic, we will be sure to remove and replace students at will. Is that understood?"

There was a general murmur of assent, and the groups of four moved to McGonagall for approval. Inevitably, in a show of dismal irony and mocking chance, Draco was left with Hermione, Harry and Ron. McGonagall frowned and beckoned them forward. It was going to be a long year.

"I will not live with that filthy son of a Death Eater!"

Weasley's comment was followed by a large _whack_, as Hermione's hand descended upon the back of his head. Draco concealed his surprise.

"Ronald Weasley," she began, and Draco tried not to flinch at the frightening tone of her voice, "we came back to Hogwarts to _learn_, not to continue past prejudices. It's not as if we have to sleep in the same room! Right, Professor?"

Her last question was directed somewhat fearfully at McGonagall, who nodded vehemently.

"All students will have their own room, with ensuite bathrooms, upstairs. The four students will however share a common room and a common lavatory downstairs."

Hermione nodded at that statement and glared at Ron, silently challenging him to make another comment. He shrank back at her withering gaze, but threw a contemptuous one at Draco, who tried his hardest not to scoff.

"I'm sure the arrangements will be fine, Professor," said Harry quietly, resting a palm on Hermione's shoulder.

McGonagall nodded, and led the students into the Great Hall. She turned to face them once more.

"As you are not in Houses, you are permitted to sit anywhere you would like. On that note, no eighth year can join the House Quidditch Teams."

She was met with a chorus of protests, and she held up a palm.

"No, sorry. You may play recreationally. You cannot play to win points. That is all."

Ron stalked towards the Griffindor table in obvious anger. Harry, although looking dejected, smiled and motioned Hermione to follow him.

* * *

Draco watched their retreating figures and stared at the Slytherin Table, sighing slightly. He made his way to the head of the table and sat, conscious of the terrified looks he was getting. First years already sat at the table, and Draco realised that the sorting had already taken place.

"Mister Malfoy, sir," started one of the First Years, the 'sir' added as an afterthought. Draco almost laughed. He turned to the skinny boy, noting his dark curly hair and mocha skin tone in something akin to disbelief.

"Is there something wrong, sir?"

"Stop calling me that," muttered Draco, blinking rapidly, "you wouldn't know anyone by the name of Blaise, would you?"

The boy shook his head.

"Are you sure? Blaise Zabini?"

The First Year perked.

"Zabini is my last name, after my dad died."

Draco snorted. This didn't give him much to work with, other than that this child was not a full brother to Blaise. The child could be sired by any of the six remaining husbands.

"And your name?"

"Aiden."

Draco nodded and returned to his meal. He yawned, tired, and nodded to acknowledge the Seventh Year that was staring at him.

"Lamia Kerberos," she stated, shaking his hand. She had a no nonsense attitude about her, which reminded him of Pansy when she wasn't in public.

Pansy had become a steadfast friend, maturing rapidly under the strain of responsibility, acting out her utter idiocy only in public to appear incapable of powerful magic. In reality she was the complete opposite; she had a shrewdness about her that Draco respected very much. She was to be tutored and examined from home, he had been told.

"Draco Malfoy," he mumbled. He had heard of the Kerberos line. They were of Ancient Grecian Wizarding descent, not nearly as powerful as the House of Black or the House of Malfoy, but influential in their own right.

* * *

Hermione was, in a word, irritated. Sitting to her right, Harry quietly ate his way through a full course. Directly in front of her, with no modicum of self respect, Ron all but vacuumed all the food in front of him.

It pained her to see how quiet Harry had become. After the war, after the death of many of the people who posed as father figures, Harry was more than a little broken. She was grateful, then, for Ginny, who sat on Harry's other side. The redhead would, once in a while, rub Harry's back in soothing circles and brush the hair lovingly from his forehead. It was sweet, the relationship they shared. It was as if they understood each other completely. With Harry and Ginny, words simply just got in the way.

Hermione felt more than betrayed by the other third of their trio. After the slap, he had apologized profusely, and she had grudgingly accepted. It was common knowledge that their short relationship was on the rocks, ending it was more a blessing than a curse. But to seek comfort in _Lavender Brown_, of all people. Hermione shook her head and picked at her chicken.

She still loved him, dearly, as a friend. She loved the way his hair flopped into his eyes, the easy smiles he offered her, the cheeky grins that disarmed her and put an abrupt stop to her yelling and screaming. Ever the practical third of the trio, Hermione was a mother already. For Ron, it was tough love that was needed. He was too susceptible to the siren call of fame, of the girls that fawned over him so regularly. For Harry, it was the utter opposite. Hermione cared for him with a tenderness that a mother cared for a newborn. He needed pure and simple familial love, and she would always be there to give it to him.

She giggled quietly as Harry stole some of Ginny's pudding when she wasn't watching. It was nice to see that, at moments, Harry could be immature. She wished with all her heart that he could simply live out his childhood, which had been so unjustly robbed from him. He sat as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, and her chest began to ache. There were worry lines around his eyes, faint but unmistakable. It was cruel, so very cruel, the life he had led. He had been a sacrifice, a pawn in the capricious game of giants. But this he accepted with infuriating calm.

She wished he would simply let it out.

* * *

After dinner the Eighth Years were accompanied to the West Wing. A row of portraits lined the corridor, spaced a few meters apart. Each group of four was delivered to their respective portrait, and each left to decide a password.

Draco, Hermione, Ron and Harry stood, all with varying degrees of detachment, staring at the portrait of a young handsome man.

"My name is Stephen Blake, of the Hampton Blakes. Choose your password," he said tersely.

Ron looked at Harry, who looked at Hermione. Draco stared at the ceiling. Blake huffed and tapped his foot impatiently against the floor of his portrait.

"How about Griffindor?"

Draco scoffed and Ron became an odd shade of red, and muttered an insult. Draco said nothing, but smirked and that only infuriated Ron further. Not a minute later there were wands drawn and sparks flying. Hermione was slowly losing her patience, her anger at Ron doubling. She gritted her teeth together, her hands clenching into fists, nails digging painfully into her palms.

"Come on, I don't have all night," snarled Blake. Hermione lost it.

"Oh, be quiet! You were assigned as an entrance portrait, and you took the responsibilities that come with it! If we want to take twenty minutes to decide a password, we damn will! I have had _enough_ of idiotic, self-absorbed _morons_ today!"

Blake quietened and Harry almost chuckled. He reached out and lowered Hermione's wand, which had been pointing aggressively at Blake's face, and opened his mouth.

"How about Chimera? It has a Lion's front and its tail is a snake. Is that okay with everyone?"

Hermione glanced at Harry gratefully and stalked past the other two boys into the common room. She was immediately rendered speechless by the large shelf of books that stood near the south wall. Harry grinned at her obvious amazement and patted her on the back before trudging up the stairs. Draco and Ron followed suit, glaring daggers at each other.

With a final, longing glance at the bookshelf, Hermione decided it was best to sleep early before the first day of classes.

**A/N: I know it doesn't have much, but I needed to establish the tension between Hermione and Ron, as well as the obvious dislike between Ron and Draco. Isn't Harry just the patient darling in this one? I promise all of you, the next chapter is just the beginning!**

**Reviews would be much appreciated : )**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks again to my reviewers, I am so sorry to , I left you out of my last authors note! But thanks to Suzzeta and CheshireCat23, and the anonymous reviewer, for the sweet feedback to my last chapter.**

**CheshireCat23: Hermione and Ron were dating, but now they're not : ) I think Hermione has a lot of options, and that Ron would be better off with someone like Luna, or Hannah Abbott, or Susan Bones, someone soft and not so study-centric. He needs the loving housewife, not the career-driven woman Hermione is, don't you think? And don't worry, you'll get a lot of Ferrety Fun soon enough ^^**

**Suzzeta: As much as J.K Rowling amazed me with every other bit of her texts, the nineteen years later part annoyed me a little. I wish she hadn't written that, to be honest, so in my story I'm going to pretend that it doesn't exist, so no, Hermione and Ron do not end up together. How about you, did you like it? Thanks for your review, it was lovely!**

**Disclaimer: I forgot to put in a disclaimer last chapter, so for last chapter and this chapter: As much as I wish/pretend it, I do not own ****Harry Potter or any of its affiliates/merchandise. I'll be happy with owning this plot. For now : D**

**Warning: Coarse Language. **

**Chapter Three - Dear, Sweet Merlin**

"Potions," Ron muttered, with so much venom that Hermione laughed.

"The only reason I'm taking this stupid subject is for Auror training," he continued. Harry grinned.

"Come on Ron, it's not all bad."

"Sure it is. But at least we don't have Snape now."

Harry flinched and Hermione frowned at Ron.

"_Professor _Snape was a great man, Ron. It's time you realised that."

Ron rolled his eyes at Hermione, but at her disapproving glance, he quietened.

* * *

Draco sauntered into the classroom, claiming a table, realising belatedly that it was the one behind the Golden Trio. He set up his cauldron, smirking at its obvious calibre. It was reinforced gold, for the reason that such a metal was hardly reactive. The outside was coated in Petrified Glass, adding an elegant shine to the precious metal.

His family still had considerable wealth, although his father resided in Azkaban and his mother kept mainly to herself, and it was enough for him to live more than comfortably. His clothes were still made of the finest material, his shoes hand-made from Dragonhide or Venetian leather, sometimes even tanned Manticore skin (which had been passed down for generations upon generations). He wore a silver ring on his right thumb, a plain band except for the inscription '_Toujours Pur_', the Black Family motto.

He was rich and handsome, and he knew it. It was a dangerous combination.

* * *

Professor Scamander threw the dungeon doors open, storming into the potions room. He had been going for the intimidating Snape effect, but his robes didn't billow, they fluttered daintily at his feet. He tripped over seemingly nothing and stumbled into his table, slamming his books down.

Draco smirked. Potions was a fine art. It was understandable then that the Professor wanted utmost respect – if the students didn't listen, it could be rather dangerous. With a flick of his wand, Professor Scamander set out the instructions on the board, and barked for them to begin.

Draco made his way to the supply closet and back to his work desk, dumping the armful of ingredients on the scrubbed wooden surface. He had the instructions memorised, he had spent most of his summer locked in the mansion's dungeons, brewing potion after potion, which he sold for considerable profit to the apothecary in Knockturn Alley.

Almost lazily he stirred his potion three times clockwise, adding a sprig of rosemary at the last turn. It wasn't required, but what he had learnt was the rosemary added resilience to the potion: its shelf life was considerably increased. Not only that, the colour was definitely clearer and the aroma was much more agreeable. Looking up, he spied the large puff of frizz that was Granger's head, and it took all of him not to dissolve into laughter.

She looked as if she had been repeatedly struck by lightning. She and Hagrid would have really hairy children, he mused. Immediately after this thought he wrinkled his nose and shook his head vehemently, refocussing his attention on the bubbling cauldron before him. The potion turned a lovely amethyst colour upon his addition of shaved Boomslang skin, and he smiled, cooling the potion and ladling it into a vial.

"Brilliant, my boy," boomed Scamander, upon inspection of his potion, and Draco smirked at the look of outrage on Granger's face. She had soot on her nose, her hair seemed to be consuming her head and she was flushed in obvious anger. With a flick of his wand, he silently vanished the rest of the potion and performed a simple Scourgify just to be sure.

Granger finished not seconds later, and after submitting her work, she began to help Weasley. Potter, he noticed, was coping well on his own, slowly and methodically adding ingredients, smiling as he completed the task. Granger passed Weasley's cauldron and subtly added some sort of powder, and the potion immediately turned the right colour. Powdered root of Asphodel, he mused. Clever.

Sitting, he began work on his essay, his scripture neat and elegantly sloped.

"Eighth Years, it's the bonus round. He, or she, who completes their potion first will receive a prize. Now who can tell me what the Wiggenwald Potion is?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Ms. Granger."

"The Wiggenweld Potion is a healing potion with the power to awaken a person from a magically induced sleep. It is a common antidote to the Draught of Living Death."

"Correct."

Hermione beamed. Draco shook his head slightly.

Gathering his ingredients, Draco brought one pint of Horklump juice to the boil, adding two drops of Flobberworm mucus as required. He could see Hermione feverishly mirroring his movements.

Smiling, he lazily added seven Chizpurfle fangs, then the Billywig sting slime. She was crazy, he concluded. No one would study this hard. No one _could_ study this hard.

He watched her disappear into the supply closet and added the sprig of mint and Boom Berry juice, whistling casually. He winced as he tipped the stewed Mandrake out from its jar into his cauldron, wrinkling his nose at the sickening smell. He quickly added Honeywater and sighed at the ensuing aroma.

Granger rushed back from the closet, not running, of course, and carefully measured out her Sloth brain mucus. He hardly measured his ingredients; he was a seasoned potions maker. He didn't even look as he tipped in the mucus, or the Moondew drops, or even the powdered root of Asphodel, which was known to be highly explosive.

"Goodness Granger, slow down, you're going to give yourself a fit," he murmured, sniggering as she stiffened and turned to glare at him. He flashed a sneer at her, adding his shredded Dittany and Wiggentree bark. She glared and shook her head.

He crushed the Moly petals in his palm, sprinkling them into his potion, charming a stray petal to bat at the side of Granger's head. The petal disintegrated with a mutter on Granger's part, and he smirked. He was having fun.

After adding the Salamander blood, he decreased the heat and added ten Lionfish spines, grinning as his potion turned a lovely translucent green. He opened his mouth to call the Professor, blinking as Granger beat him to it. She turned and smirked at him triumphantly, raising an eyebrow, swishing her wand to cool her potion.

"Know-It-All," he snarled.

"Ferretface," she countered.

"Ugly."

"Uglier."

"What? I am devilishly handsome, Granger, don't even try and deny it."

She scoffed.

"Bucktooth."

She turned and flashed him a grin.

"Not anymore, Spawn of Satan."

"Mudblood," he growled.

"Pureblood," she spat. He blinked.

"Thank you, Frizzhead."

"Arrogant pig."

"Stuck-up twat."

"Man-whore."

His eyebrows raised.

"I didn't know you were capable of that language, Queen Prude."

"Asshole," she said, stressing the word.

"Bitch."

"Coward."

Her snarled and flicked his wand in her direction, smirking as she tripped over her robe and knocked over a jar of Dittany into her cauldron. The standard pewter cauldron titled precariously, finally tipping over, its contents thoroughly drenching Harry and Ron, who stood at Hermione's side.

She gasped and stared at the two boys, who were frowning.

"Feels funny," mumbled Ron, and Hermione screamed as he began to shrink. Harry followed soon after.

Hermione stared down at the two children that stood where eighteen year old Harry and Ron had stood. Harry was scrawny, his shock of black hair falling into his bright green eyes. Ron was a little chubbier, blue eyes twinkling and red hair shining. He had a wide grin.

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione muttered, then fell into a dead faint.

**A/N: Uh Oh! What have Hermione and Draco done? Also, the ingredients to the 'Wiggenwald Potion' are correct, as far as the Wii game of Harry Potter is concerned. Sorry if I bored you with the technicalities, I just love the idea of potions as a subject! **

**Reviews would be much appreciated : )**


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